


Snarl Time

by executrix



Category: Blakes7, Farscape
Genre: Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's attempt to restore Rygel to his throne is not without its problems...especially after Blake goes into the Don't Room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snarl Time

1  
Blake set his jaw firmly. Frustrating the schemes of the Federation by returning a deposed ruler to power wasn't always easy. Particularly given the level of internal dissent within the rescue party, and the outright pusillanimity of the…man? Chap? Fellow? himself. Blake hoped that it would not be necessary to engage in coercive methods to obtain his justified objective.

Even using the hierarchical title offended Blake's republican soul. He swallowed, bent from the waist, and said, "Sir, we are willing to help you—we all are—" (he gestured in Avalon's direction) "—But we do require your cooperation."

"Blow on his earbrow and he'll follow you anywhere," the lithe, elegant blue woman murmured, giving Avon a cruisy sidelong gaze that was mirrored. Cally's eyes narrowed at what seemed to be a Saying of an alien culture.

{{Everybody tries to get in on the act}} the three of them thought.

"We are grateful for your assistance," said the slender priestess. "If it is not possible for our entire crew to return to our homes, at least one of us can."

"The pleasure is ours," Blake said. "Restoring Rygel to the throne will provide a counterbalance against the Federation's imperial ambitions." {{And considering how I feel about the little slug after five minutes, I'm sure you'll be glad to see the back of him for good and all.}}

"D'you have any regular people on your ship?" Vila asked.

"John Crichton is also from your Earth," Zhaan said. "But he will remain with Moya after this ship departs for Hyneria. It is important for him to have access to Starburst, because he is being pursued by an insane space commander."

"Well, who in the damn Galaxy ain't?" Vila said.

Avon looked at the crew manifest. "Aeryn…is that how you say it? And her surname is pronounced…"

"As in, 'Over my dead body,'" Jenna said, examining the hologram narrowly.

2  
"That Delvian seems rather taken with me," Avon said. "Is it true that she's a plant?"

"Yes," Cally said.

"Wonder how they manage, then," he said.

"By melding of mind and spirit at the deepest level," Cally said.

"Oh, well, then, I'd best keep well clear!" Avon said. "I suppose some things should be kept within a species, anyway." He headed off to the flight deck to take up the second-shift watch.

Avon could feel an odd sort of slow burning at the back of his neck and could almost hear verbal fragments {{Why, of all the _tharrage'uch_!….apport a crowbar up his….broomstick didn't get in the way…}} He made a mental note to do a systems check of the Comms to see which units were feeding back.

3  
Late night watch. Vila was startled into wakefulness by the sight of a single puff of smoke, dispersing throughout the flight deck. He was about to hit the alarm and start yelling when he heard a metallic grinding that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. The bronze bars on Zen's screen solidified into a solid glow, more brilliant than Vila had ever seen it. Then the screen winked dark and there were gear-snores.

"Good on yer, mate!" Vila said. "At least someone is."

4  
For once, it was pleasant to undertake a mission on his own, with no arguments or sniping or worries about which crew members would be stranded by the inevitable rock-fall or bracelet malfunction or triple pursuit ship apparition. Blake clicked on his torch, and was pleased to see a sign, "The Don't Room." It was good to be somewhere they told it like it was.

He threw himself at the door, shoulder-first, and it yielded. Blake fell backwards, overcome by the brilliant supernal light emanating from the giant, bloated sac lolling in the air. A hollow voice spoke: "Told you, but you didn't listen…"

When Blake came to his senses, he discovered that his teleport bracelet had fallen off, so he picked it up (with some difficulty) with his four-fingered felt hand. The bracelet kept falling off, so he opened the clasp and fastened it around his neck.

He staggered out of the room, the tendrils of light streaming after him. He unclasped the bracelet from his neck and whispered into it, "Teleport!" Nothing happened, until eventually he stomped his tiny felt foot and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Blake closed his eyes as the ripples of energy seized him. He wondered idly who was on teleport duty. Surely his luck couldn't get any worse…

5  
Blake solidified in the teleport bay. Wearily, he opened the bracelet, took it off, and rotated his head to loosen up his stiff neck. Reflexively, he tried to put his bracelet back in the rack, but of course couldn't reach the tabletop. He jumped up two or three times, like a mouse trying to escape from an improvidently entered rubbish bin, and finally gave up and slung the bracelet in the general direction of the rack.

The metallic crash made Avon look up from the teleport console, where he was attempting to figure out why the levers had flipped when, apparently, no one teleported.

Weak with laughter, he leaned back in the chair and said, "Who's the wee tiny puppet man, then?"

"This isn't funny, Avon," Blake said.

Avon crossed to the entry pad, picked up Blake gently, and cradled his full head of sheepskin curls.

"Put me **down** , Avon," Blake shouted, pounding his felt fists against Avon's shoulder.

"Well, for one thing, in your condition, the walk to your cabin is the equivalent of several miles' journey," Avon said. "And you can anticipate multiple difficulties using the biomorphic keypad lock, can't you? We'd best go to my cabin, until Orac and I can figure out what to do."

6  
All across the planet, nearly every vizscreen transmission was spangled with paid political advertisements. As a martial air played, the lovely woman in white satin seemed to fix every voter with her compelling taupe eyes and address him or her directly. "Put your hands on the screen…dammit, I said **get over here and put your hands on the screen.** " And when, inevitably, they complied, the arcing energy made her writhe with delight.

"Four more cycles!" read the text on the screen. "A Dominatrix, Not a Dominar!" and "Vote Servalan. Or Else."

7  
"Save it," Blake said wearily. "I've heard all the jokes from Avon and already and I'll hear them again in shorter words from Vila when he finds out. What happened to me?"

+Analysis of the broadcasts in question reveals that the centerpiece of the Federation's Hynerian strategy is progressive draining of the lifeforce of the electorate+ Orac said.

"Really? I'd heard they had five tax cuts in five years," Avon said.

+In this instance, there is nothing metaphoric about it+ Orac said. +They ain't just whistling 'Exbar'. The Federation summoned a race of demons to assist it in its mission of conquest, but it is no longer clear who is…ahem…manipulating whom."

"Familiar, isn't it?" Avon said.

Blake head-butted Avon's shin. "See here, Orac, what are we going to do about this?"

+If someone immune from the influence of the Humpty were to enter the chamber and recite the appropriate unbinding spell, then the sac would collapse and the life energy would be returned to its proper owners+ Orac said.

"Do you think that the Delvian would have the immunity you speak of?"

"I'll ask her," Blake said. "She seems like a wom…a plant with red blood…blue chlorophyll…in her veins," Blake said. He thought he remembered from University botany that plants had veins.

8  
Behind the scenes in the studio, Servalan slumped forward, her heavily mascaraed eyelashes nearly cracking as her head toppled forward. She moaned again, this time in anguish. "Can't I just...disappear?" she sobbed piteously.

"Not yet," said the demon, pulling her hand out of the hole cut into Servalan's back. The demon ran a floppy hand through her black hair, forcing the gelled spikes further upward. Sleer licked her red-vinyl-coated lips, straightened her black velvet gown, and strutted off bow-legged.

9  
"You're avoiding me," Avalon said. "I figured that out."

"I'm underneath the teleport console," Blake bellowed.

"As it happens, that, too, came through. Who do you think you are? You're just made of flesh and blood like everybody else…"

"When you assume, you make an ass of you and me," Blake said.

"I really thought we had something," Avalon said. "A closeness, a connection. I mean, if an assertive, professional woman can't get a date in the middle of an organized rebellion, when can she…"

"Dammit!" Blake said, rappelling up the pedestal of the chair and perching on the chair seat. "I'm made of felt! And my dose comes off!"

"Wow!" Avalon said. "That's a new one! I've heard, 'we're separated but we're getting back together,' and 'I'm married to my Cause,' but…just wow."

10  
"I never noticed before, when he was all oversized," Rygel said, "But that Captain of yours is a damned attractive man."

"Ah," Avon said. "I'm afraid, Sire, that Blake is exclusively homo…."

Rygel's earbrows perked up.

"Sapiens sexual. Narrow-minded, but there it is."

"Silly fool. Well, you're a bit of all right yourself. Show me a good time, and there could be a duchy in it for you."

"But you see, Your Grace, my origin is in the middle stations of life. Blake, of course, is an aristocrat."

"Well, so what? I've frelled plenty of popsies who couldn't tell a bidet from a fingerbowl."

"But Hynerians, no doubt. Were you to condescend to, ah, conjugate with an earthling, surely the decline would be too steep unless you were to honor one of the very highest in among our species."

"Hmmmph," Rygel said. "I suppose you're right. Got any more of that freeze-dried ice cream?"

11  
Three days before the election, Liberator arrived at Hyneria. Avon built a specially shielded aerothrone for Rygel to make just enough carefully secured appearances to prove that he had returned and sought the suffrages of a grateful electorate.

The day before the election, Rygel appeared at the central studio and broadcast his platform. Attempts were made to silence him, but his ringing "I paid for this microphone, Supreme Commander!" turned the tide in his favor.

Zhaan, purring a little in the brilliant light, stood in the Don't Room and read out the spell miniated in blood and lapis lazuli on the ancient scroll Cally had located in Liberator's Ancient Scroll Room.

Sleer leaped out from beneath the stage and scratched at Blake's face. "I'm going to cut you a new puppet-hole, bitch!" she snarled. Blake went into combat stance, swept a kick at her head, and fell down. Sleer jumped on top of him and started pulling his hair.

Zhaan reached the end of the scroll. The Humpty exploded and Zhaan luxuriated in the spa treatment.

Blake's felt nose fell off as, werewolflike, he burgeoned and burst the bonds of his tiny body. Since his clothes were still lying in one corner of the Don't Room, and no one had remembered to ask Zhaan to bring them back or brought any new ones, Sleer was not the only individual in the room to stare, transfixed.

12  
"Isn't this inspirational?" Cally asked, her eyes shining. "Literally, a spell has been dissolved. Figuratively, a veil has fallen from their eyes, and they have cast off Federation shackles and embraced freedom. Rygel has achieved a stunning 58.7 percent mandate with a voter turnout of 32.4 percent, with 67 percent of the precincts reporting."

"We'll never know, will we?" Avon said. "I patched the ballot-counting computers in to Orac."

13  
"Don't even think about it, Vila" Blake muttered through gritted teeth as the sun caught the diamond-studded golden (albeit only life-sized) statue of Dominar Rygel I-- The one without practical hand-prints (the statue, not the Dominar). In the foreground, endless regiments and military bands paraded past, celebrating the election victory. In the background, the Federation convoy departed in a hurry.

The current holder of the title waved a hand in his ancestor's direction. "As you can see, the frieze at the bottom depicts the proof of the sacred authority of our dynasty, as Rygel the First receives the sacred lance from Co-Goddess Mompessar of Hyneria, the deity of fresh water."

"Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government," Blake said repressively.

"It's beyond me," Vila said , watching the matching statue of Dominar Rygel XVI hauled into place. "I mean, he's an **Emperor** , but he's just me, really, except short and not handsome and with worse digestion."

"I don't suppose he's any worse than the common run of wretches to whom statues are raised," Avon said.

"Hey, Avon," Vila said, clapping him on the back. "We gotta go to the crappy town where **you're** a puppet."

CODA  
A month later, a sudden lurch sent Crichton sprawling to the deck.

"Pilot!" he yelled. "What's up?"

"No worries, mate," Pilot said. "Morning sickness."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover AND a fusion, with the Angel the Series episode "Smile Time."


End file.
